


Happy Hour(s)

by OriginalCeenote



Series: Rat Race [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal, Bar Games, Dirty Talk, Drunkenness, Fingering, Fluff, Karaoke, M/M, Mild Angst, Oral, Smut, Social Anxiety, The Author Is An Awful Person, The Author Regrets Nothing, alcohol use, all the smut happens in chapter two, like LOTS of SMUT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4232031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just like the title says. Bucky convinces Steve to get to know their coworkers better outside of the office. Sequel to "That Competitive Edge."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bar Crawl, Ending One

**Author's Note:**

> One of the comments I got from this story nudged me into writing this. I'm just a bad person...
> 
> And for the record, thank you to anyone who read and left kudos or comments for the first installment. Even the constructive ones. Everybody likes to be noticed. *blows kisses*

"Tell me again why I'm doing this?" Steve shouted across the room from his closet where he was rummaging in it for something appropriate to wear.

"Because you need to bring your head up out of your little hole in the sand for air, darling." Peggy's voice was warm but cajoling from his computer speakers where they were Skyping. "C'mon, duckie. It'll be good for you."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one being dragged out the door," Steve complained, "crawling through every dive bar in New York."

"Would that I could, Steve. I miss you."

Steve sighed as he considered a tie. "Miss you, too. When are you coming back over the pond?"

"In three weeks. I'll send you my itinerary when I'm closer to climbing onto the plane."

"That's too far away," Steve complained.

"You'll just have to find a way to wile away the hours. Don't get into too much trouble between now and then."

"Tell me that when you're posting bail. This is _such_ a bad idea."

"It's nice that they took the time to include you, Steve."

"It was Bucky's idea," Steve grumbled as he took out a short-sleeved brown and white plaid buttondown and laid it over the ironing board. "All of the worst ideas are Bucky's ideas."

Peggy chuckled. "I think I like him already."

"You would." Steve misted his shirt with a spray bottle of water and pressed it on high heat, wincing at the steam that scorched his fingers. "He's a smart***."

"So are you," she quipped. Steve mock-glared at the screen. Peggy's cupid's bow mouth curled up into a smirk. "I still just think it's keen that he asked you out."

"No," Steve protested. "He didn't 'ask me out.' He asked me if I wanted to go out with the rest of the idiots we work with and get stupid-drunk."

"What's the occasion, again?"

"Clint's getting married to a girl who's way out of his league." Steve grinned. "He's pretty whipped."

"Make sure to buy him a consolation drink. He's kissing his bachelorhood and any semblance of autonomy over his life goodbye, after all."

"I'll buy him a double." Steve was interrupted from their chat by a brisk knock on his apartment door. He felt a little frisson of panic in his gut. "Ooh. Shoot. That's Bucky."

"I'll let you get back to the apple of your eye, then." Peggy's face was rueful.

"It's not like that," Steve argued as he turned off the iron and scrambled into the shirt, jerking on the sleeves and trying to smooth down the panels. There was another impatient knock, and Steve rushed to his computer. "He's just... we're friends."

"You'd like it to be more," she trilled.

"It'd be too weird, Peg," he protested. I've gotta go, okay?"

"All right, then, darling." She puckered up her perfect red pout and air-kissed him. "Take care, now."

"Miss you."

"Cheers, luv." The Skype window closed just in time for one more loud knock at his door.

"Coming!" Steve stumbled over the ironing board, banging his hip against it on his way out of his bedroom. Throbbing pain exploded across that spot, and he limped the rest of the way to the door, cursing under his breath. "Hold your horses a minute! Sheesh..." He glanced through the peep hole just to make sure it really was Bucky and not some psycho. Bucky, in typical fashion, noticed the shadow behind the lens of the peephole from his side and he leaned in toward it, filling Steve's field of vision with one brilliant blue-gray eyeball. Steve snickered and undid the deadbolts and slid back the chain lock before he jerked open the door.

"Took ya long enough, Rogers."

"I was logging off of a call, so it just took me a second, Mr. Impatient." Bucky grinned. "Way to wake my neighbors."

"At this hour?" Bucky checked his phone. "It's not even ten. And it's a Friday. You'll probably see half of 'em downtown." He glanced down at Steve's outfit and his brows beetled. "What... is _that?_ "

"What?" Steve stared down at his relaxed fit stonewashed jeans and plaid buttondown.

"Just... no. No, no, no. You're a year younger than me, Rogers. The only things that look of yours is missing are dentures, comfort shoes, and Aqua Velva cologne. My grandpa has better fashion sense." He brandished a plastic shopping bag with string handles. "I come bearing gifts." He shoved the bag at him, planting it against Steve's chest as he barged past him into the apartment.

"Um... okay."

"You're welcome." Bucky sniffed the air. "That's not Aqua Velva. It smells nice..." Bucky doubled back as Steve was re-doing the locks. He reached for him, grabbing his shoulder and leaning in toward Steve's collar. Bucky took a deep, invasive sniff. Steve prickled at the contact of Bucky's large, warm hand gripping him through his sleeve, flushing at how close his face was.

"It's... nothing. Just some cologne I picked up last week from the Macy's counter." Bucky closed his eyes and took another deep sniff. He just insinuated himself right up into Steve's space and breathed him in.

"Geez... that's _nice._ I like that. You've got good chemistry for it, whatever it is." The word "chemistry" uttered from Bucky's mouth, still shockingly close, made Steve's stomach flip and twist itself into a snug little knot of nerves. He drew back from Steve, smirking. "I need another whiff..." He leaned in again toward Steve's neck, right under his ear, and just the anticipation of it felt ticklish to Steve, even though he wasn't even making that contact. And Bucky's inhale was audible and exaggerated, and Steve shivered in Bucky's grip. He swatted at him, and Bucky backed off and let go, grinning like a cheeky bastard.

Bucky held up his hands. "Sorry. I'll quit it. Just had to get your goat, Rogers."

"Jerk," Steve tsked. He flicked his eyes over Bucky's outfit. "You look nice," he admitted grudgingly.

"These old rags?" Bucky looked pleased, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coffee brown leather jacket. He wore a skinny, rust-colored scarf looped casually around his neck, snuff-colored sweater over crisp white shirt and hipster jeans. A gleaming pair of boots shod his feet. Bucky's hair was well-styled with product, spiky and intentionally messy, and the volume above his forehead emphasized his eyes. In short, he was gorgeous.

Steve was _so_ screwed. How Bucky could be in his wet dreams and out of his league at the same time baffled him. _Why?_ he asked the universe.

The universe merely shrugged and laughed hollowly at his pain.

Bucky invaded his space again. He strong-armed Steve back into the direction of his room, familiar with the layout of his apartment from the past couple of times he'd stopped by. After that first afternoon where Bucky visited him to help nurse him through his bout of walking pneumonia, he'd made subsequent visits to help him with things like laundry, getting his mail, and picking up food and prescriptions. Those visits resulted in a more casual bond at work with less animosity, but no less snark. Bucky and their other friends still pranked Steve, but he was less of a troll toward him, and he didn't do anything to sabotage his work or disrespect his input.

Steve’s normally tidy room looked like a tornado hit it. “Oh, my God. He’s got the ‘I look fat in that’ pile all over the floor. Rogers, you shouldn’t have. I’m flattered that you’d go to such lengths to impress lil’ ol’ m-“

“Ah, that’s enough of that.” Steve held up his talk-to-the-hand hand, stopping just shy of covering Bucky’s mouth, because… damn it, it was _Bucky’s mouth._ “I don’t get out much, okay?”

“No. It’s _not_ okay. It’s the one-hundred-eighty-degree opposite of okay. We’ve gotta get you out there, Rogers. No more of this hiding in your cubicle and making a beeline for the train home every night at five PM. Staying this cooped up isn’t healthy. And it’s bad for workplace morale.”

“What do you propose I do to _improve_ workplace morale?”

“Shots. Harry’s is having a special. C’mon and get dressed.”

“But-“

“C’mon, now, Stevie. That shirt’s hurting my eyes. And 1989 called, it wants its jeans back.”

“But-“

“Go. Change. Or I’ll do it for you.” Bucky’s voice was calm and flip. “It’ll be like having my very own Ken doll.”

Steve’s lips quirked. “You played with Barbies?”

“I had a younger sister and an active imagination. And Ken was my GI Joe’s drinking buddy.” Bucky rolled his eyes when Steve just stared at him. “Give me this!”

“HEY!” Steve felt the shopping bag yanked from his grip and unceremoniously dumped out onto the floor, and he eyed the sleek looking dark pants, shirt and sweater with caution. Then he felt a draft of air rush over his skin as Bucky wrestled with the hem of his shirt – his comfy favorite – and whisked it off over his head. Steve’s blond hair stuck up in staticky tufts as Bucky made an “eeewwww” face at the shirt, balled it up, and shot it into the hamper. “Not cool,” Steve complained.

“No. It wasn’t.” Steve opened his mouth to protest further, but Bucky retrieved the fallen clothing and began yanking off the tags. Steve glanced down at himself and noticed that he was naked from the waist up, and he promptly hugged his skinny arms across his chest, hissing in embarrassment. “There was _nothing_ cool about that shirt. Lose the jeans, too, Stevie.”

 _Stevie?_ Steve mouthed, incredulous.

“The pants, too, Steve,” Bucky warned. 

“But-“

“Move it along! Time’s a-wastin’! Beer’s a-wastin’!” 

Steve felt his limbs being manipulated by Bucky like there were strings attached, suffering his friend – could he consider him that after his critique?- threading his arms through the sleeves of the new long-sleeved buttondown, spinning him to face him, and doing up the buttons with swift fingers. 

“Nice,” he pronounced. “Matches your eyes.”

“Uh… oh. Yeah, I guess.” The shirt had a soft finish and felt like it had some acetate or nylon blended into the cotton. Steve plucked at the cuff idly until Bucky smacked his hand away and did up that button, too.

“Work on the pants, Steve.”

“Geez! What’s up with this… bossiness?”

“Ken doll,” Bucky reminded him. “We’re doing something with that hair, too, by the way.”

“Who the heck do I have to impress?” Steve yelped. “HEY! What… you… BUCKY!” Bucky yanked Steve towards himself, flipped up the shirt hem, and yanked open the button of his pants. A loud _zzzzzziiippp!_ and his jeans dropped into a pool around his ankles. Steve’s cheeks went up in flames, smarting with embarrassment.

“Wow. You’ve got nice legs,” Bucky murmured appreciatively. Steve tsked, ending his perusal. “Right. These. Put these on instead. Hurry it up. I told Clint and Sam we’d get to Harry’s by ten.” Steve snatched the proffered pants and shuffled into them quickly, one leg at a time, almost stumbling and falling over in his rush. He turned his back to Bucky as he finished hopping into them, zipping them up and hoping Bucky hadn’t gotten too thorough a glimpse of his chonies. “When was the last time you went underwear shopping, Rogers? Those have a little hole in them. Didn’t your mother ever give you that lecture about wearing decent underwear in case you ever got into a car accident?”

“BUCKY!”

“Okay, okay! Don’t get all lathered up. Turn around for a sec. Ooh. That’s… not bad at all.” He turned Steve to face him, gripping his shoulders and looking him up and down. His smile was coy. “Let’s try the sweater.”

“I’m not much of a sweater guy- _mmmmphhh!_ ” Steve’s voice was garbled as Bucky quickly jerked the sweater over his head. “The hell, Bucky?”

“Leave the shirt untucked,” Bucky told him. “It’s kinda ‘in’ to leave it untucked.” Bucky made a thoughtful noise, tugging on the sweater’s hem. He smoothed out the fold lines in it with his palms and picked off a bit of lint. Steve was still blushing furiously and prickling with the awareness of Bucky’s contact and scrutiny. He strong-armed him in front of Steve’s full-length mirror and parked him there for a minute. “There you go!”

“Uh. Wow.” Steve adjusted his glasses. The pants were skinny, but to his surprise, Bucky had managed to get just the right size. They made him feel self-conscious about how his body looked shrink-wrapped in the stretchy denim, but at least he wasn’t swimming in them. 

“Yeah. So about those glasses… got any contacts?”

“No!”

“Seriously?” Bucky whined.

“Buck, I need these to _see_.”

“By the time we’re finished with you, Rogers, you won’t be seeing straight, anyway.”

“Haven’t we already had this discussion? The one where I really don’t drink that much?”

“My memory’s a little fuzzy.”

“I really don’t-“

“Hey, let’s hurry up and do your hair!”

“But-“

And off they went to the bathroom. On the way out, Bucky scooped up Steve’s loafers, which were actually a decent pair of shoes. Bucky clicked on the wall switch, lighting up the globes over the vanity mirror. “I like that even better in this light. It’ll look nice on the dance floor, Stevie.”

“Dance floor? I don’t remember anyone saying anything about a dance floor, so, yeah. _No._ I don’t dance.”

“Chill. Sit.” Bucky gave him a little shove to make him sit down on the toilet lid. “Where’s your product… product…” he hummed to himself as he rummaged in the medicine cabinet. “Wow. That’ a lot of pills… how have you been feeling, anyway? Still rundown?” 

“Decent,” Steve remarked as Bucky found what he was looking for, a large jar of Ampro Clear hair gel and Steve’s wide-toothed comb. Bucky turned on the faucet and let the water warm up a bit, then dunked his hand under the stream. 

“C’mere!”

“HEY!” Bucky roughly smoothed down Steve’s cowlicks with his wet hand, splashing more water into his hair to tame it. Steve made a face as spare drops dripped into his eyes.

“Sorry…”

“Thanks. Just had a shower, Bucky, but thanks.”

“Quit your whinin’. Hold still.” Bucky turned off the water and took Steve’s chin in a gentle grip. “Hm. Eh.” He scooped some gel out of the jar and slickered his hair down with it, combing his fingers through it, back from Steve’s face.

“This… is _so_ unnecessary.” Steve was pouting. Bucky grinned at him.

“You’re gonna look great. Buck up, pal. When you go home with a pocket full of phone numbers, you’ll thank me.”

“That’s assuming I go home with any numbers, which I probably won’t be asking for, because we’re going out to bars, Bucky. With drunken strangers.”

“Technically, Steve, we’re going out with Clint and Sam. We’ll be _mingling_ with drunken strangers who are gonna want your number when they see how smokin’ hot you look… right… now. Look.” Bucky finished flicking the comb through Steve’s damp waves with a little flourish. “Get up and look.”

“I really don’t want to,” Steve grumbled, but he stood and faced the mirror.

Bucky smirked over his shoulder, then smoothed its sleeve. “Told you.”

“It’s… not that bad.”

“Not bad at all.” He nodded to the shoes. “Put those on. Grab your wallet. Then hold on to your pants, because we’re gonna dance them off!”

“I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?”

*

The first thing Steve did was turn his hearing aid down a notch when they entered the sweaty bar. They waited in line about twenty minutes to get in, and the bouncer stood there scowling at Steve’s ID forever, shining his flashlight on it, then right in Steve’s face.

“It’s me. I promise,” Steve deadpanned.

“Did you celebrate that middle school graduation at the roller rink or Chuck E Cheese, Fun-Size?”

“HEY!” Steve looked ready to throw himself in the guy’s face, but Bucky reached impatiently for Steve’s ID card, tucking it into his friend’s hand.

“You know he’s legal. Listen to him, fer cryin’ out loud. Does he sound like a kid? Heck, no.”

“Fun-Size, my ass,” Steve muttered, in as deep a voice as possible. 

“C’mon. I work with him.” Bucky handed him his ID, then a thought occurred to him when the bouncer looked like he wasn’t gonna budge on the matter. Bucky fished out his cell phone and hit his contacts list, going to the S’s. The name “Anthony Stark” flashed across his iPhone screen before it began to ring. Of course, Tony had AC/DC playing as his ringback tone… Bucky huffed when he picked up.

“What’s taking you two so long?” Tony demanded. “The carriage is gonna turn back into a pumpkin before you even get your first round of shots.”

“The guy out front’s carding Steve,” Bucky told him. 

“ _Needlessly._ ” Steve gave the bouncer the stink-eye. The larger man shrugged, looking unimpressed.

“Put him on the phone.” Bucky grinned triumphantly and handed the bouncer the phone.

“What’s this for?”

“Say hello to Tony Stark. You already let him in.”

“That’s because he’s _Tony Stark._ You two clowns aren’t the kind of crowd he usually rolls with,” the man protested before he held the phone up to his ear. “Yo.” He nodded his head as he listened, and Bucky could hear the faint echo of Tony’s drawl in the phone’s tiny speaker. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Oh. Okay… oh, they are?” The bouncer turned and craned his neck around to stare inside the bar’s entrance. Bucky followed his eyes and saw Tony inside, grinning with his own phone up to his ear, waving with his glass of scotch. The bouncer gave him a terse “sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Stark” before handing Bucky back his phone. He bent down and unhooked the red velvet rope. “G’wan in, fellas.” Bucky tugged Steve inside smugly and stopped him at the cashier’s table, where Bucky forked over their cover and argued with Steve when he didn’t want to have his hand stamped.

“I’m allergic to that glow in the dark ink!”

“You’re allergic to everything!”

“S’not like I plan to come back in here tonight, anyway.”

“Never say never, Stevie.”

They pushed through the crowd with Bucky leading the way. Bucky picked up the call when his pocket rang, and Tony barked their location into his ear. “They’re out on the patio!” Bucky yelled.

“It’s freezing out there,” Steve complained.

“You’ll be fine. Let’s get a couple of shots.” Bucky urged him forward with a gentle hand against the small of his back. Steve shivered slightly at the contact, but he still looked unconvinced. They headed outside, and Steve noticed that the bar island was open and plastered with flyers announcing the night’s drink specials. The crowd parted, and Bucky waved at Tony, who was holding his arms open in welcome and holding court at a small table surrounded by bar stools. Clint, Sam, Natasha from Legal and Pepper flanked him, and in an unexpected move, Thor had shown up, reeking of some herbal, woodsy cologne, dressed in European labels with his thick blond hair skinned back into a ponytail. Pepper did her job as Tony’s secretary so well that she had a secretary of her own. Thor always took accurate minutes and made a mean cup of coffee.

“Glad you could make it!” Tony threw out, nodding at Steve. “I’m impressed. Who’s your stylist, Rogers?”

“Don’t ask,” he muttered. He was still flaming with embarrassment at the memory of Bucky’s hands on him, albeit harmlessly, but Bucky was smirking at his elbow, giving Steve a little shove.

“Ain’t he cute?” he teased.

“Cute as a button,” Clint chimed in. “What’re ya drinkin’, Rogers?”

“You tell me. I owe you a round,” Steve reminded him. “You won’t be a free man much longer.” Natasha sidled up to Clint and looped his arm around her shoulders. Clint dutifully nuzzled her temple and kissed it, grinning down at her adoringly.

“Who said he was a free man now?” she pointed out.

“I’m not saying no to a drink. I’m sticking with tequila, Steve.” Steve nodded, then looked at Sam. 

“Same,” he told him, winking at Steve and making a little shooty finger at him. 

“Bucky?” 

“Stoli,” he told him. Steve flagged down the waitress and met her halfway at the edge of the crowded dance area, finding himself buffeted by the crowd, almost feeling underdressed and wishing he’d brought a jacket.

Bucky watched Steve interacting with the server, noticing he kept his eyes on hers, never staring down at her considerable curves revealed by her tight blouse and short skirt with fishnet stockings. He was polite to a fault but shy. When he was finished giving the order, he hugged himself self-consciously, trying to make himself look even smaller, closing in on himself.

That was all wrong, Bucky decided. Steven Rogers needed some alcohol. He needed some special attention, and he damn well needed to have a good time. Steve came back to the table and lingered on the edge of his seat, looking tense. 

“So what’s your deal, Rogers? How is this the first time you’ve ever come out with us?” Tony demanded.

“Um. It’s. Kinda the first time… anyone’s really invited me.”

“Oh. Yeah. Guess that would make a difference, wouldn’t it?” Tony threw back his scotch, stirring the remaining ice cubes with the little red straw. He elbowed Sam. “Should’ve been inviting him before now.” Sam gave him a look that begged why Steve’s omission was his fault.

“Guess I took you seriously back when you interviewed me,” Steve pointed out. “When you asked me how much I liked being chained to my cubicle if you hired me.”

“Aaannnnd you took me literally,” Tony decided. “Hm. Okay.” Tony flagged down the waitress. He touched her arm in confidence as he leaned in toward her. “Darling, bring this man a stiff drink. Bring him _all_ of the stiff drinks. Doubles. I’ve sorely neglected him…” She chuckled and nodded before darting off. “We’ll set this right, Steve. Just you wait.” Steve was skeptical about the night’s outlook until the waitress brought him the hard cider he ordered, eschewing Tony’s suggestion of something stronger. The first, tartly sweet, mellow sip his veins and made him smile. By the time the bottle was empty, his mood lightened considerably.

Bucky nudged him with his own beer bottle. “Feelin’ okay?”

“Feeling no pain,” Steve told him before ducking his face. Bucky was looking very handsome under the light cast by the outdoor lanterns, and he hoped that he didn’t embarrass himself in front of him before the night was through. In the meantime, as Tony had said, it was time to “set things right” and catch up on some of the fun he hadn’t been having with the cast of characters he worked with.

 

Setting things right involved games.

Despite his crappy vision – Bucky wasn’t able to convince Steve to leave his glasses at home – Steve trounced everyone at darts. Those long, slim fingers handled each dart expertly, putting just enough zing on each throw. Tony’s aim contributed to the sea of pin holes in the drywall surrounding the dartboard, but Pepper refrained from teasing him. Much.

Tony watched him in disbelief as he took another perfect shot. “I feel like I was just hustled.”

“We weren’t playing for money,” Steve reminded him.

“Damn right we weren’t. Who’s up for pool?” Tony noticed Steve’s cider bottle was empty and quickly ordered him another one.

*

Steve smoothly knocked the last striped ball into the left corner pocket while the cue ball obediently drifted up against the bumper.

Clint leaned on his pool stick, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I feel like I was just hustled.”

“Rack ‘em up again?” Steve grinned disarmingly as he gulped down his third hard cider of the night. The room around him blurred a little, and the noisy crowd and obnoxious house music was almost tolerable when he was this buzzed. It was nice. Clint beckoned to the waitress to bring him another, shelling out a couple of small bills.

*

Sam cursed as Steve’s small blue disc knocked his red one off the shuffleboard deck and into the slot without tipping over the edge. “Damn it!” Sam slapped his palm on the table, staring at Steve as though he’d grown another head. “What is it with you?”

“Pay up, Wilson,” Bucky told him, shrugging and grinning. His cheeks were rosy from the alcohol and from laughter. Steve was swaying on his feet but clearly feeling no pain. He turned to Bucky and looped his hand through the crook of his arm.

“I beat Sam again,” he boasted cheerfully. His eyes were bleary, and he pushed his glasses up on his nose with his free hand. He ran his hand thoughtfully over the smooth leather of Bucky’s jacket. “This is _nice,_ Bucky. This is a _nice_ jacket.” He kept plucking at it and touching it, stroking Bucky’s arm almost rapturously. Bucky stared down at him in amusement. He wasn’t in much better shape, and Steve was just… cute.

“Damn,” Sam marveled. “He’s three sheets to the wind.”

“On hard cider,” Natasha added. “Just on the soft stuff.”

Steve turned to Clint and proudly announced, “Bucky dressed me tonight.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Uh…”

“He jus’ _yanked off all my clothes,_ ” Steve announced gleefully. He giggled. “Said I was his Ken doll.” Sam raised his eyebrows.

“Uhhhhh…” Tony looked stunned, then glanced accusingly at Bucky. “Something we should know, Barnes?”

“No. Nothing at all.”

“Bucky says I need new underwear,” Steve continued.

“Jeezus H. Tapdancing Monkeyballs on a raft,” Clint marveled. “Guy’s gone…” Natasha and Pepper both looked shocked, something out of character for both of them.

Bucky clapped his hand over Steve’s mouth. “Let’s get him some water.” He looked frantic with embarrassment.

“Don’t you dare,” Tony insisted as he took out his phone. “Let’s get some _pictures._ ” Steve grinned beneath Bucky’s palm and snuggled close, hanging on his arm. His blue eyes crinkled behind those dopey lenses, and Bucky felt his restraint faltering a little.

It was hard when Steve was just so cute, the goofy little shit…

*

Bucky cried mutiny when the taxi van they’d piled into dumped them off at Crazy Horse. “Are you _kidding?_ Tony, are you nuts?!”

“We’ve gotta do the full tour,” Tony told him helplessly. “I don’t make the rules, Barnes. And Clint’s the man of the hour, it’s _his_ big night.” Clint grinned at them, and Bucky shuddered at the glint in his eye.

“Which one of you gentleman wants to ride the bull first?”

“Bull?” Steve’s voice sounded hollow to his own ears and confused. He turned to Bucky. “Did he just say ‘bull’?”

“I call bullshit,” Bucky told Clint as Tony paid the cover for their entire party. They’d lost Thor earlier when he decided to chat up a cute brunette at the last bar. “This is _such_ a bad idea. Stevie, we don’t have to go… Steve?” Bucky thought was still hanging on his elbow, but when he turned, the skinny blond was darting up the steps.

“Look at ‘im go!” Clint cheered. “Steve rides first!” Bucky scrambled up the steps after him, wondering how he’d live with himself after they had to scrape Steve up off the safety cushions…

“Steve! STEVIE! C’mon, bud, cut me some slack! Please, don’t do this… awwwww, don’t… Steve…” The man tending the mechanical bull entries didn’t blink at the grinning blond’s slightly staggering gait. He just took the ten-dollar bill that Steve handed him and helped him up, somewhat awkwardly until he finally fetched Steve a stool. He clambered up onto the bull and the attendant showed him how to put his feet into the stirrups. Steve bounced experimentally in the saddle, eyes searching the crowd until they landed on Bucky. He waved at him, and Bucky facepalmed. He tried to run to the attendant, but another bouncer warned him away.

“One in the ring at a time,” he chided him. Bucky fumed, feeling a little thrill of fear in his chest. The DJ started up the music, and the attendant started up the bull. Steve’s smug look rapidly shifted to one of shock with the first rough jerk of the mechanical monster between his legs.

“He’s gonna do it,” Clint breathed. Bucky never even heard him join him. “Look at him go!”

“I can’t watch,” Bucky cried. “That thing’s gonna kill him!” They heard Steve’s breathless whoop and through his fingers – Bucky’s hand covered his face – he saw Steve’s arm flying up wildly, flailing with every shunt of the bull as it thumped and spun.

“He might pull this off,” Tony encouraged, giving Bucky’s shoulder a little punch.

“No.” Bucky shook his head miserably.

“No?” Tony challenged, but his brown eyes slid back toward Steve. They watched him wobble and tip, fighting to keep his purchase on the beast, but there he went, sliding… sliding…

He was whipped off the bull, nearly airborne as he landed in the cushions with a loud yelp. The attendant scrambled over to see about him, and Bucky pushed past him, ignoring the dirty look the guy gave him. “Steve! STEVE! C’mon, buddy, talk to me… “

“Wheeeeeeeee…” Steve stared up at Bucky and giggled. He reached up for Bucky, tried to pat his cheek and missed, tried again and cupped his face fondly. “Heyyyy, Buck.”

“Geez…”

“That. Was. Awesome.” Clint stared down at Steve in awe as Bucky helped him up. Sam and Natasha nodded solemnly beside him. Steve was still giggling as he clung to Bucky, who looked equal parts amused and mortified. If he kept Steve tucked up against him longer than he needed to as he urged him to sip a large glass of ice water where they slumped together on bar stools, no one mentioned it. Much.

Bucky might as well have recharged a battery. Steve was back up in a flash, elbowing Bucky and practically dragging him onto the dance floor when the DJ started playing “Boot Scoot Boogie.” The patrons lined up in rows, and Steve ended up going in the wrong direction about three times, much to the annoyance of a big guy in a black Stetson beside him until Bucky steered him correctly. “I thought you said you don’t dance,” he shouted in Steve’s ear. Calling what he was doing “dancing” was being pretty generous, but Steve was managing to keep up. Sam was practically leading the number up near the front of the floor. He caught sight of Steve and Bucky and grinned, shaking his head.

Bucky would never live it down on Monday morning by the water cooler. But beside him, Steve was laughing, eyes brilliant, acting like he didn’t have a care in the world.

*

Their second to last stop was the karaoke bar on Cherry Street called Rascal’s. Bucky was exhausted, but Tony looked fresh and chipper – he no doubt swigged down a Monster before leaving the house that night – Clint and Sam were more or less game, and Pepper and Natasha were just tagging along for the ride at that point. 

“Karaoke?” Bucky asked weakly.

“Warm up those pipes, man,” Clint warned him as they paid the cover. They headed for the bar and grabbed a few napkins to write song requests on. Two twenty-something sorority girls were currently murdering “Last Friday Night” on the stage. Bucky winced, but Steve yelled “WHOO! YEAH!” and pumped his fist encouragingly.

“This isn’t happening,” Bucky insisted. “This seriously isn’t happening right now.”

“Don’t be a wet blanket, Barnes,” Clint told him. “C’mon. Let’s see what songs they have up there.”

“There is no God,” Bucky groaned, but he had to admit that the urge to sing was infectious, if only to show up the girls that were leaving the stage. They sounded like cats in heat. Steve was clapping for them with enthusiasm as Sam and Clint bought another round of drinks. Clint dragged Bucky over to the DJ’s carousel of selections and they started to page through them. 

Steve loomed up by Bucky’s shoulder, and he resumed his earlier perch against him, hand looped around his arm. He sighed and leaned into him, cheek mashed against cool leather. “You slowing down, Rogers?” Bucky asked hopefully.

“A little,” Steve admitted dreamily. “I can’t feel my face…” He sighed again, groaning contentedly. “Feel nice. Y’feel like Bucky…” Bucky huffed.

“I would hope so,” he countered. “How’s a nice big glass of water sound?”

“Wet,” Steve replied.

“Right. Let’s make that two.” They found a table and sat Steve down for some water, and Steve sat slumped against Bucky, blearily, happily hanging on his every word. Bucky covered Steve’s hand with his where it was still curled around his arm, stroking it protectively while Tony powered his way through a rendition of “War Pigs.” Steve still smelled surprisingly good and his hair was holding up decently, even though the top of it where his head rested against Bucky’s collarbone got slightly mashed. Bucky was growing accustomed to Steve’s weight against him and the laxness of his body, the way he just stared off like everything was right in the world from where he sat.

Steve would never tell him, if he could help it, that absolutely everything _was_ right in his world, with his hand wrapped in Bucky’s grip.

Clint talked Bucky into a duet, and the two of them did a fair job of mangling some Springsteen. Of course, since it was _Springsteen_ , the crowd didn’t really notice the difference. It was Clint’s big night; therefore, Clint reserved the right to air-guitar. Steve was whistling and cheering for them, and Bucky didn’t notice when Tony furtively switched Steve’s water for a gin and tonic. Bucky wondered why Steve was suspiciously revived and perky.

Sam managed a decent round of “Sweet November,” even though he was a bit pitchy in the higher end of the octave and his voice broke on a couple of notes, but the crowd ate him up. Pepper and Natasha declined coolly, leaving Clint and Tony to go another round. Biz Markie’s “Just a Friend” didn’t sound much different after several tequila shots and scotch than it would have before either of them started drinking that night. It was a very forgiving song. Steve’s applause was too enthusiastic and pretty remarkable for the night he had and how much alcohol he’d imbibed.

“What else is there up there?” Steve inquired of Sam as he staggered down from the stage with exhaustion.

“Nothing all that worthwhile. Didn’t have that many choices, Rogers. Might be time to turn in…”

“Aw!” Steve whined and smacked the table. “How’s that fair? I cheered you guys on. It’s my turn, now!”

The table’s collective eyebrows raised at this announcement. “Are you sure you wanna do this, Stevie?” Bucky asked him. “You don’t have to, if you-“

“I need a song.” 

“I may need some ear plugs,” Sam muttered to Clint. But he told Steve aloud, “Knock ‘em dead, bud.”

“Wonder if they have any jazz…” Bucky heard Steve mutter under his breath as he approached the DJ booth. The guy’s expectations didn’t look too high as Steve leaned in to talk to him, making hand gestures. But to Bucky’s surprise, the DJ nodded and grinned before he went into his stash of music that wasn’t listed on the carousel. He showed Steve the CD case, and Steve nodded enthusiastically, then peeked over his shoulder at his friends. He waved to Bucky, giving him an awkward little smile. Bucky cringed, but he smiled back encouragingly.

“Please go easy on him, Lord,” Bucky murmured, feeling a hint of dread. The mechanical bull was enough humiliation for one night, wasn’t it? In the back of his mind, Bucky began to wonder if Steve was trying to prove himself, somehow. The whole night had been one of revelations and baffling surprises. Bucky had wanted Steve to one-eighty from his usual reserve and have a little fun, but this… all of this was so extreme and sudden. But Bucky watched, fascinated, as Steve gently lowered the handle on the microphone, adjusting it for his own height. The crowd shuffled in their seats a little, some ignoring the little blond guy in bifocals as they got their last call drinks. A few of them whistled for him, including Tony, Clint and Sam. Bucky shushed them with his hand, then turned back to Steve. He watched him clear his throat and lick his lips, preparing for the worst…

Bucky knew what Steve’s voice sounded like when he was tired, when he was hoarse, after he’d flown five hours on a plane, at the crack of dawn when they had to travel and last thing at night when they crashed in residence inns. He knew how he sounded when he was sick, plaintive but gruff, with a sexy bit of gravel in his voice that gave Bucky shivers. He occasionally heard him humming behind his cubicle wall, but it couldn’t really be called _singing._ He knew this performance wouldn’t be stellar, and when he thought about it, the guy was pretty darned brave.

The opening bars to a song that Bucky heard while he was shopping around in Barnes and Noble floated out from the speakers, and then Steve opened his mouth.

“Birds flyin’ high/you know how I feel…  
Sun in the sky/you know how I feel…  
Breeze driftin’ on by/you know how I feel…  
It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day…”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open. He was stunned. Floored.

His voice was deep, smooth and rich, but when it rose to meet the crescendos of the chorus, that bit of gravel still came through, licking over Bucky’s spine. “Jesus…”

“That’s _Steve._ ” Pepper just stared, agape.

“Didn’t I just hire him to make sure stuff read right and looked pretty? What am I seeing?” Tony squinted up at the stage, gesturing to it as he turned to Bucky. “Did you know he could do that?”

“Uh-uh.” Unlike his friends, Steve didn’t attempt any choreography. He just sang in earnest, hands clutched around the microphone, muscles in this slender throat thrumming with each note. Bucky could only stare and listen, enthralled by the beauty of that voice, seeing Steve’s essence stripped bare. The disco lights threw rainbow patterns over his blond hair and fair skin. Bucky was having second thoughts about the outfit he forced on Steve earlier, because it was making him far too appealing right now, with his sleeves rolled up and the fabrics all looking rumpled, with that pert little butt wrapped up nice and snug in those jeans. Bar patrons paused in lifting their drinks and halted games of pool to listen to the little blond who didn’t even weigh a buck-fifty belting out Nina’s lyrics like he meant them, and like he _owned_ them.

“It’s a new life… and I’m feelin’ good…”

By the time he reached the part about blossoms in the trees knowing how he felt, Bucky was ready to throw himself at Steve. He was rapt, caught under the spell of that voice, Steve’s gaze holding him captive, because he was singing to _Bucky,_ no question. Bucky glanced awkwardly – briefly – back at Sam, Clint, Tony, Pepper and Natasha, who were all staring at _him_ , now.

“What?”

“You know ‘what,’” Sam told him knowingly.

“ _Pffffttt_ …” Bucky waved him off, but he tuned out the crowd, his friends, the noise from the bar and the stench of beer and sweat, wanting nothing else but to listen to Steve. He watched that mouth, deep rose and damp, and that did him in.

As he finished the last bars, the crowd whooped it up, cheering and whistling, and Tony, Clint and Sam were on their feet, clapping emphatically. Steve gave a silly little bow, grinning down at Bucky, and he promptly tripped over the microphone cord on his way off the stage. Bucky leapt up and hurried to him, catching him by the arm and hauling him to his feet. 

“Right. Time to head home, Stevie.”

“’M feelin’ good, Buck,” he slurred, voice hoarse and thick, and his gaze was bleary and pleased. He reached up and patted his friend’s cheek. “Feelin’ _real_ good.” Bucky stared down helplessly into that face, saw himself reflected in Steve’s eyes, and he felt himself melt.

“Who’s up for shawarma?” Tony piped up. “Anyone? I think I’m in the mood for some right about now.” 

*

Bucky could remember plenty of times that alcohol had made him ramble on, chattier than usual and asking the lion’s share of goofy questions. He couldn’t remember it turning him into the Food Police.

Steve was grilling the guy behind the counter like a flounder with questions. “You’re sure the falafel is vegan? It’s not fried in any beef tallow or lard of any kind? You didn’t throw it into the same fryer basket as the chicken or the lamb?” Clint and Sam groaned behind them, throwing up their hands. All of them were exhausted and starving, wanting to ward off the next day’s hangover.

“The lamb’s not fried, sir,” the young guy told him with a long-suffering sigh. 

“But the falafel didn’t go into the same oil as any meat?” Steve insisted.

“Steve… Stevie, just sit down.”

“It’s not vegan if it’s fried in the same oil with the meat, Bucky!” he told him. 

“Vegan food’s not our specialty here, sir…” Tony was making furtive shushing motions to their server. “We have a lot of vegetarian options, I assure you.”

“Falafel sounds vegan to me! Steve, how about the couscous?”

“M’allergic to tomatoes,” he slurred. Bucky sighed heavily.

“Could you just pick them out?” Tony inquired, somewhat desperately.

“Look,” the server began, beginning to look impatient.

“I’m _begging_ you. We just want to sit down and feed our friend a little something to sober him up before he collapses. I’ll even make it worth your while if you make a fresh batch of the couscous without tomatoes, and if you dump that grease and start over to make the little guy some falafel.” Tony reached into his wallet and pulled out a hundred, stuffing it into the tip jar.

The server looked nonplussed. “No one else will want the couscous without the tomatoes.”

“We’ll buy the entire batch.” Tony stuffed in another Ben Franklin. “You’re really kind to go to the trouble.” Their server opened his mouth, but Tony’s fingers were poised in the fold of his wallet. Bucky was giving him a desperate look.

“Does the baklava have nuts in it?” Steve murmured, poking Bucky in the side. “Do those look like nuts?”

“We have a nice organic fruit nectar I could interest you in, if you’re wanting something sweet, sir,” the server told him cheerfully as Tony tossed another bill into the jar. “It’ll be a few minutes! Would you like the couscous and falafel brought out with the rest of the order?”

“That’s fine. Don’t just stand there, man! Fire up that meat-free oil!” Tony shooed him off. Bucky sat at the table with Steve slumped into his side. Bucky felt his slim frame heave a sigh from under his arm.

“Stupid nuts. Wanted… baklava.”

“Next time, Stevie.”

Bucky propped Steve up and tucked a straw between his lips, holding his fruit nectar for him. Steve’s end of the conversation wasn’t exactly sparkling. Bucky dutifully nodded and agreed with every word out of his mouth, tucking the straw back in each time to coax him to drink some more. He had to ask Steve to repeat himself once:

“…you have pretty *hic* eyes.”

“Oh.” Bucky’s cheeks heated up. Sam and Clint smirked over their shawarma. Tony furtively took pictures of Steve and Bucky with his phone under the guise of checking his social media.

*

The taxi van dropped Bucky and Steve off first. Steve spent the ride home plastered against Bucky by default, or so Bucky told himself, since Nat and Clint, and Pepper and Tony were coupled, and Sam made a face of protest when Steve initially slumped against him as they climbed inside. Bucky tucked Steve against him. Steve’s head popped up for a moment, as though he remembered something, but Bucky urged him to lay his head back down against his shoulder. A little drool wouldn’t hurt his leather jacket. Much.

Their cab driver had his radio tuned to an oldies station. “Feeling Good” drifted out from the speakers, and Steve, despite the appearance of being zonked out, began to hum along in a husky rasp. Bucky reached down for Steve’s wrist where it was flopped across Bucky’s knee and held it, gently stroking his pulse. He smiled in the dark and listened to his friends chatter about the night’s exploits, some of them already groaning with regret. Bucky went out with them frequently enough. Some nights he made it home in the back of the cab with his friends and back to his own bed alone; other nights, he broke away from the herd and ended up hooking up for the night, nothing particularly serious. 

When he took Steve’s hand and found himself listening to Steve’s purring, drunken hum, something slipped into place, some little piece missing from previous crawls and benders. Bucky was happy to be where he was right now, wrapped up in the glow of a night well spent among friends, and sharing heat with Steve Rogers, breathing in the scent of his cologne and shampoo.

Steve ruined Bucky’s reverie when he burped, letting a hint of stale cider waft up and hit his senses. Bucky winced and fanned the air in amused disgust.

“Just tasted that one, didn’t you, Barnes?” Tony asked from the way-back seat.

“Yeah. Pretty much…” They reached Steve’s complex, but when Bucky reached into his pocket to get his debit card to pay their share of the fare, Tony quelled him with a hand on his free shoulder.

“I’ve got this. Take him up. Take good care of Nina.” Bucky gently roused Steve awake, and he blinked in surprise as the ceiling light of the cab came on when Clint slid open the door to let them out. Steve winced and wobbled, letting Bucky ease him out of the cab and steady him, not feeling self-conscious at all with the brunette’s arm around him as they walked up to his front stairs.

“How ya feelin’, Rogers?” Clint called out to them, heedless of the late hour.

“Feelin’ good!” Steve barked back. The chorus of snickers from the inside of the cab was cut off by the slam of the door before they waved and rode off. Steve and Bucky began to crawl up the stairs to Steve’s unit, heartily wishing they had an elevator. Steve’s body felt slight and hot against Bucky as they finally made it to the door. Steve fumbled with the keys, seeming to forget which one actually unlocked it.

“Which one is it?”

“Little round one with a skull on it,” Steve muttered as he contemplated every other key _but_ that one until Bucky took over the task, gently taking the key ring from him. The key crunched in the lock and Bucky let them inside, fumbling for a light switch. Steve stumbled back toward his room without bidding Bucky to make himself at home. Bucky wondered if Steve just wanted him to leave, but he didn’t want to let him crawl into bed without checking on him first and doing a little hangover-proofing first.

Bucky dimly heard the sound of two shoes thudding onto the floor and the low slam of a bathroom door, but that didn’t muffle the unmistakable sound of piss hissing into a toilet bowl. “Geez,” Bucky muttered. “Poor guy had to _go_.” While Bucky rummaged in Steve’s cabinets for the economy sized bottle of Motrin that he knew Steve had there and poured him a glass of water, he tried to ignore the ongoing stream in the back, but Steve honest-to-God didn’t stop for _two minutes_. Bucky heard the flush, the rush of water running in the sink, and the distinctive sounds of teeth being brushed. 

Risking catching Steve indisposed, Bucky headed back toward his bedroom anyway with the medicine and the water and set it down on his vanity, using a Kleenex as a coaster. Bucky noticed the discarded clothes around the room that he’d teased him about before, and he began slowly rehanging them and putting them away so Steve wouldn’t have to stumble over the whole mess the next day. 

Bucky noticed Steve’s computer monitor was still flashing like it had been left on. He moved the mouse, thinking to log off for him, but Bucky noticed Steve’s instant messenger window was still up with one unread message. Burning curiosity seized him. He heard Steve still moving around in the bathroom, and he heard the faucet running again. Maybe he was doing his whole nightly routine before he hit the pillows.

Before Bucky could think better of it, he clicked on the message window.

PeggyCarter07 wrote: _How did it go tonight, ducky? How did Mr. Wonderful treat you? I won’t judge if you kiss and tell. Ping me back. Cheers._

Bucky heard the water shut off and the click of the bathroom light switch. His heart raced and he felt like someone doused him in ice water. “Shit!” he mouthed as he clicked the message window shut and snapped off Steve’s monitor. Bucky felt a wave of shame mingled with relief when Steve exited the master bath, glasses in his hand and rubbing his eyes. He looked a little less bleary but still tired. 

“Sorry. ‘m a crappy host.”

“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t expecting anything. Just wanted to make sure you made it in okay.” Steve beamed shyly as he set his glasses in a standing case on the dresser.

“That… that was nice, Buck.” He sat on the edge of his bed and rolled his socks down his feet, sighing. “I can manage the rest.” Then Steve gave him a wicked look, and Bucky struggled with his restraint. “Unless you wanted to help me get dressed for bed?”

Pressure and heat flared in Bucky’s crotch. He licked his lips and rubbed his nape, staring down at the floor. “Funny,” he murmured. “Yer funny, Rogers. Real cut-up when ya wanna be.”

“I’m a riot,” Steve agreed. “But actually, I wouldn’t mind a little help.” He chewed his bottom lip. “If you’re not in that big of a rush…”

“I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Steve huffed, then gave him a lopsided little smirk. He looked down at his lap for a moment and then shook his head, as though something had just occurred to him, a decision that clearly needed to be made. Then Steve rose nimbly from the bed, walked across the room and took Bucky’s upper arm.

“You won’t,” he told him simply, and oh. Steve’s eyes were dark and dilated, and Bucky felt his breath hitch. He swallowed and licked his lips again, and Steve’s eyes tracked the movement. His grip on him slid down his arm to take Bucky’s hand. It was like holding a live wire. Bucky felt the charge between them run through his body, which was slowly inclining itself toward Steve. “You don’t…have to rush off yet.” There was a hint of hesitation in his tone, but he didn’t want to miss an opportunity, on the off chance one was presenting itself.

“You’re tired…”

“Then, put me to bed.” Steve’s other hand eased up to Bucky’s shoulder, chaste, but still testing the waters. Bucky’s eyes flitted down to Steve’s lips. They looked rosy and soft.

They tasted like a remnant of spices and toothpaste. Steve made a helpless, needy noise and his fingers clutched the front of Bucky’s jacket as they both reeled with the impact of the kiss. Bucky’s head was spinning, fingers laced together with Steve’s, tightening as his mouth slid over his. Bucky groaned at how good he felt, how easily Steve’s body fit up against his when he drew him in, arm coiling around his waist. Steve’s neck was craned back as Bucky drained kisses from his mouth, and they pulled greedily at each other, caressing and groping, stumbling back against Steve’s bed. Bucky steadied him before Steve could fall back onto it.

“This… this is happening pretty fast.”

“Does that mean you’re taking off?” Steve looked disappointed, but hopeful. 

“You’re wasted.”

“Want me to walk a straight line and touch my nose?” Steve offered as he chased Bucky’s mouth, kissing him once, twice, then nibbling enticingly on his lower lip. Bucky shivered, tightening his embrace. He closed his eyes and sighed. Steve reached up and stroked his cheek. “I can still recite the alphabet backwards.”

“Prove it.” Bucky looked skeptical and amused.

“Z… Y… X…W, uh, wait, T-”

“No.” 

“Damn it!”

“This isn’t a good idea. It’s tempting,” Bucky qualified. “You’re a lightweight, Rogers.”

“I’m a cheap date.” Steve leaned up and kissed him butterfly-soft on the cleft of his chin. “If you ever wanted to revisit this.”

“Still making up my mind, Steve.” He kissed him back, arms tightening around him. Steve sighed in contentment, combing his fingers through the back of Bucky’s hair while Bucky was deciding.

“V,” Steve pronounced. Bucky chuckled. “U. Then T. S.”

“You’re not gonna give up on this, are you?”

“Will it help my case if I stop?”

“Actually… just a question. What was up with tonight? With you? You were different.”

“Different… how d’you mean?”

“Just… different. I’m used to the Steve Rogers who lines up all of his desk supplies in order by size and so they’re all parallel to each other. Or Steve Rogers who writes his name on his vegan coffee creamer in a Sharpie. Tonight was all about Cowboy Steve on his mechanical bull.” Steve blushed and ducked his face.

“I overdid it, huh?”

“Just a little.” Bucky held up his finger and thumb. 

Steve sighed again, then leaned in to Bucky’s embrace, tucking his head beneath his chin. Bucky obliged him, holding him warm and snug and giving the arousal between them a chance to simmer down. “I didn’t know if I’d get another chance. I kinda wanted to do it all.”

“Another chance for what?”

“To go out with you and the guys. Mostly, with you,” he admitted. “I didn’t know if you’d want to hang out with me again outside of work, so I kinda wanted to throw a little of everything into tonight. I was just excited that you asked me, Bucky.”

“Oh.” Steve’s honesty covered Bucky in fuzzy prickles. Part of him wanted to blame the shots. “Guess we could’ve invited you out sooner, Steve. I didn’t think you were into the bar scene.”

“Usually not. Cheap date, remember?”

“About that. A date. How about the next time, we go out on an actual date?” Bucky cupped Steve’s face and kissed his temple. “Not out with those maniacs. A ‘date’ date.” He caressed a warm line of kisses down his cheek, and Steve leaned into it with a low moan.

“You’re a jerk, y’know that, Barnes? I’m here throwing myself at you… “ Steve growled under his breath before kissing Bucky back. “I’m being pissy about it, I know, but yeah. Bucky, I want you to take me out. I wanna take you to bed right now, too, but not if it’s gonna wreck my chances to go out with you. And to maybe eventually get into your pants.”

“The end goal is getting into my pants?”

“Well, not the ‘end goal,’” Steve amended. “It’s still kinda a goal. One of them.” Bucky grinned, and Steve wanted to provoke that smile every chance he got. His arms coiled around Bucky’s neck. “Was the karaoke too much, too?”

“No. Nice set of pipes you’ve got, Rogers.”

“My family’s musical. My dad and his friends had a barbershop quartet.”

“I liked listening to you.” Bucky nuzzled his neck. “I’m gonna enjoy listening to you again one of these nights…gonna make you _sing._ ” Bucky’s voice licked over him, and Steve shuddered with need when he lapped lazy circles over his pulse. “Get ready for bed. I’ll tuck you in.” Steve whined in protest. “And I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Steve pouted, giving Bucky a low whimper.

“Be a good boy and get into bed, Rogers, and I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll tell you a story.”

Steve was a good boy. Bucky dug his pajamas out of the top drawer and chucked them onto the bed before helping Steve slowly peel himself out of his club clothes and throwing them into the hamper.

“Still not fair,” Steve grumbled as he hopped into his flannel pj pants. 

“Let’s hear that alphabet backwards again?” Bucky quizzed, cupping a hand around his ear.

“Z, Y, W… damn it!”

“I thought so. Hop under the covers.”

“By myself?” His voice was plaintive. Bucky’s mouth made a small moue, but he nodded regretfully. Bucky tucked him in, pulling the covers up over his shoulders and smoothing down the gaps. Steve snuggled into his touch, and amusingly, yawned kittenishly wide, proving Bucky’s suspicions that he was done for the night. Bucky crossed the room and turned off the lamp, then returned to the bed, hand poised on the switched for the bedside one, too. “Where’s my story?” Steve’s expression was mutinous.

“Once upon a time, there was a boy named Stevie. Stevie’s favorite thing in the world was writing ad copy and technical manuals.”

“Ooh. I think I’ve heard this story before…” Steve gave him a sleepy little smile.

“Little Stevie Rogers had a kind heart and never hurt a fly. Because he was _vegan._ ” Steve snickered. Bucky kissed him lightly.

His voice droned on until Steve gradually nodded off. Bucky rose from his crouch and was about to give him one last kiss, until he noticed the light on Steve’s computer tower was still on. Silently, he turned off the bedside lamp and crept to the desk. Bucky turned the monitor back on, moused the cursor to the start menu and logged Steve off, still feeling slightly guilty about reading his text, but at least Bucky had a clue where Steve stood.

“G’night, Rogers,” Bucky whispered into his hair before he left, carefully locking the door behind him. Steve’s number onstage was the earworm stuck in Bucky’s head as he waited for and rode the cab home.


	2. Bar Crawl, Ending Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky helps Steve back home from one heck of a bender…
> 
> The boys revisit Steve’s claims that Bucky “jus’ yanked off all my clothes” and called him his Ken doll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picks up as the boys get out of the cab, with a few tweaks to that narrative as different thoughts occurred to me.

When he took Steve’s hand and found himself listening to Steve’s purring, drunken hum, something slipped into place, some little piece missing from previous crawls and benders. Bucky was happy to be where he was right now, wrapped up in the glow of a night well spent among friends, and sharing heat with Steve Rogers, breathing in the scent of his cologne and shampoo. Steve was burrowing into him, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder. Street lights flashing by alternately threw bars of light and shadow across his face.

Steve ruined Bucky’s reverie when he burped, letting a hint of stale cider waft up and hit his senses. Bucky winced and fanned the air in amused disgust.

“Just tasted that one, didn’t you, Barnes?” Tony asked from the way-back seat.

“Yeah. Pretty much…” They reached Steve’s complex, but when Bucky reached into his pocket to get his debit card to pay their share of the fare, Tony quelled him with a hand on his free shoulder.

“I’ve got this. Take him up. Take good care of Nina.” Bucky gently roused Steve awake, and he blinked in surprise as the ceiling light of the cab came on when Clint slid open the door to let them out. Steve winced and wobbled, letting Bucky ease him out of the cab and steady him, not feeling self-conscious at all with the brunette’s arm around him as they walked up to his front stairs.

_You okay?_ Bucky mouthed.

Steve nodded as he grinned up at him. _Yeah._

“How ya feelin’, Rogers?” Clint called out to them, heedless of the late hour.

“Feelin’ good!” Steve barked back. The chorus of snickers from the inside of the cab was cut off by the slam of the door before they waved and rode off. Bucky glanced around, embarrassed that passerby could see and hear their ruckus. Steve and Bucky began to crawl up the stairs to Steve’s unit, heartily wishing they had an elevator. Steve’s body felt slight and hot against Bucky as they finally made it to the door. Steve fumbled with the keys, seeming to forget which one actually unlocked it.

“Which one is it?”

“Little round one with a skull on it,” Steve muttered as he contemplated every other key _but_ that one until Bucky took over the task, gently taking the key ring from him. The key crunched in the lock and Bucky let them inside, fumbling for a light switch. Steve stumbled back toward his room without bidding Bucky to make himself at home. Bucky wondered if Steve just wanted him to leave, but he didn’t want to let him crawl into bed without checking on him first and doing a little hangover-proofing first. He stared awkwardly around the apartment, resisting the urge to pick up objects or peek through his mail.

Bucky dimly heard the sound of two shoes thudding onto the floor and the low slam of a bathroom door, but that didn’t muffle the unmistakable sound of piss hissing into a toilet bowl. “Geez,” Bucky muttered. “Poor guy had to _go_.” While Bucky rummaged in Steve’s cabinets for the economy sized bottle of Motrin that he knew Steve had there and poured him a glass of water, he tried to ignore the ongoing stream in the back, but Steve honest-to-God didn’t stop for _two minutes_. Bucky heard the flush, the rush of water running in the sink, and the distinctive sounds of teeth being brushed. 

Risking catching Steve indisposed, Bucky headed back toward his bedroom anyway with the medicine and the water and set it down on his vanity, using a Kleenex as a coaster. Bucky noticed the discarded clothes around the room that he’d teased him about before, and he began slowly rehanging them and putting them away so Steve wouldn’t have to stumble over the whole mess the next day. He noticed the brown and white buttondown shirt and cringed. It was hanging off the edge of the hamper where Bucky had chucked it earlier. He stuffed it further down inside and crammed the lid on top.

Bucky noticed Steve’s computer monitor was still flashing like it had been left on. He moved the mouse, thinking to log off for him, but Bucky noticed Steve’s instant messenger window was still up with one unread message. Burning curiosity seized him. He heard Steve still moving around in the bathroom, and he heard the faucet running again. Maybe he was doing his whole nightly routine before he hit the pillows.

Before Bucky could think better of it, he clicked on the message window.

PeggyCarter07 wrote: _How did it go tonight, ducky? How did Mr. Wonderful treat you? I won’t judge if you kiss and tell. Ping me back. Cheers._

“Kiss and tell?” Bucky muttered.

“Hey, Buck? You still there?” Steve called through the door.

“Oh, uh… yeah, Steve. Just… just hangin’ out.”

Bucky peered at the message program, wondering if there was a way to mark the message unread, but as he clicked on it and fiddled with it, the hourglass spun on the desktop, and a _second_ message opened onscreen.

PeggyCarter07: _Do you have company, love? Am I interrupting something important?_

Bucky heard the water shut off and the click of the bathroom light switch. His heart raced and he felt like someone doused him in ice water. “Shit!” he mouthed as he clicked the message window shut and snapped off Steve’s monitor. Bucky felt a wave of shame mingled with relief when Steve exited the master bath, glasses in his hand and rubbing his eyes. He looked a little less bleary but still tired. 

“Sorry. ‘m a crappy host.”

“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t expecting anything. Just wanted to make sure you made it in okay.” Steve beamed shyly as he set his glasses in a standing case on the dresser.

“That… that was nice, Buck.” He sat on the edge of his bed and rolled his socks down his feet, sighing. “I can manage the rest.” Then Steve gave him a wicked look, and Bucky struggled with his restraint. “Unless you wanted to help me get dressed for bed?”

Pressure and heat flared in Bucky’s crotch. He licked his lips and rubbed his nape, staring down at the floor. “Funny,” he murmured. “Yer funny, Rogers. Real cut-up when ya wanna be.”

“I’m a riot,” Steve agreed. “But actually, I wouldn’t mind a little help.” He chewed his bottom lip. “If you’re not in that big of a rush…”

“I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Steve huffed, then gave him a lopsided little smirk. He looked down at his lap for a moment and then shook his head, as though something had just occurred to him, a decision that clearly needed to be made. Then Steve rose nimbly from the bed, walked across the room and took Bucky’s upper arm.

“You won’t,” he told him simply, and oh. Steve’s eyes were dark and dilated, and Bucky felt his breath hitch. He swallowed and licked his lips again, and Steve’s eyes tracked the movement. His grip on him slid down his arm to take Bucky’s hand. It was like holding a live wire. Bucky felt the charge between them run through his body, which was slowly inclining itself toward Steve. “You don’t…have to rush off yet.” There was a hint of hesitation in his tone, but he didn’t want to miss an opportunity, on the off chance one was presenting itself.

“You’re tired…”

“Then, put me to bed.” Steve’s other hand eased up to Bucky’s shoulder, chaste, but still testing the waters. Bucky’s eyes flitted down to Steve’s lips. They looked rosy and soft.

“Steve…”

“Unless I’m readin’ things wrong, Barnes. Tell me now if I have the wrong idea about anything.”

“It’s not like… I… Steve, I-“

“Because if I have those signals wrong, and if this is where you tell me good night with a little fist bump or a pat on the back, and the stuff that happened earlier tonight would just be ‘weird’ in context if we go any further, then go ahead and say something now. But if I’m reading those signals right, namely the ones where you seem to _like_ touching me,” and Bucky shivered when Steve caressed his cheek, breath hitching, “and where I found you starin’ back at me every time I couldn’t take my eyes off of you, then this is the part where you kiss me.”

Steve’s eyes were dilated and fixed on him, taking in every line and curve of Bucky’s face. “Because I can’t take my eyes off of you, Buck. And I _really_ want you to kiss me, and I’m gonna regret it tomorrow if-“

Peaches.

Steve’s mouth tasted like a hint of peaches from the fruit nectar he drank beneath the minty tang of his Colgate paste. Steve made a soft, yearning sound when Bucky’s hands cupped Steve’s nape and tipped his face up for a kiss that robbed him of all reason. Bucky still had a few ounces of Stoli running through his veins, but he felt the kiss like a jolt to his system, taking in Steve’s surprised breath and the pleased little noise he made. The kiss was drawn out, giving them the chance to process it, then _crave_ it. Bucky’s mouth slid over Steve’s in deep, lazy caresses, nipping at his lips, which _were_ as soft as they looked. Steve’s hands were fisted in Bucky’s jacket and he clung to him, breathing him in and blowing his mind when he opened for him. Steve licked into the sweet recess of Bucky’s mouth, teasing him. They broke apart for air, a necessary inconvenience. They stared into each other’s eyes, dilated, dark and full of passion.

“Please tell me you won’t regret this. That you aren’t regretting it _now._ ” Steve’s voice was husky as he pleaded with him. “I suck at reciting the alphabet backwards even when I’m sober.”

“I won’t make you do it again,” Bucky panted. “Do you want this?”

“Yes!”

“Would you usually want this? With me?”

“God, yes… Bucky, just…” Steve surged up and kissed him hard, and Bucky was done with reason. 

They groped each other, hands working desperately at buttons, sleeves and zippers, pausing every so often to bite a lip or lave a neck, and if Steve’s voice sounded beautiful on the mic and like heaven when it was breathy and slightly muffled, Bucky was in love with how he sounded when he was turned on, panting and moaning his name.

“You feel so good…”

“I’ve wanted this, Stevie. I’ve really wanted this…”

Cashmere sweater landed on leather jacket that landed on skinny scarf. Buttondown dress shirts crumpled to the floor, hopelessly wrinkled, joined soon by two pairs of skinny jeans and shoes that were kicked across the room. Bucky wanted to look his fill of Steve, but the blond wouldn’t back away from him to let him have a good look, and he distracted him with kisses and roaming hands. He took exception to that, almost hating to slow Steve down.

“Been wanting to see you like this,” Bucky told him. 

“Ain’t much to see.”

“Bullshit. I like what’s in front of me.” Steve’s eyes flitted away from Bucky’s face for a moment. “Hey, don’t be shy, Rogers.” Steve shook his head.

“Didn’t think you noticed me.”

Bucky drew him in, kissing a soft, hot line down the side of his face, trailing over his throat. Steve shuddered against him and clung to him, arching against him in pleasure. “This is me noticing you, Steve.”

“Got condoms in the drawer. Lube in the bedside table.”

“In a minute. Fuck, Steve, you’re gorgeous, y’know that?”

“Have you seen yourself? Jesus, Bucky. Look at you.” Those big, gentle hands of Bucky’s stroked Steve’s back, counting the pearls of his spine, reverent when tracing the faint curve. Steve lost himself in the lush swirl of Bucky’s tongue over his throat, moaning and rubbing up against him like a cat, eager for more. He ground against Bucky, urging him to keep touching him, and Bucky grasped his hips, guiding him against his hardness. Bucky scooped Steve up and carried him to the bed, letting him slide down to sit, and Steve’s mouth was on him, blazing a hot trail down Bucky’s chest. He teased and lapped at his nipple, and Bucky arched into his mouth, eyes rolling back in his head at the sensations Steve was pulling from him. Bucky’s skin was slightly swarthy, revealing some Italian blood, and the fact that he ran twenty miles a week showed in his physique, from his rippling abs to his beautifully tapered thighs. Steve’s hands molded his body greedily, memorizing all of his contours and pleasure points. He ducked his head and breathed over the bulge of Bucky’s sex where it tented his boxers.

“ _Steve._ Bucky’s fingers clutched Steve’s hair while he teased him, grazing his mouth over him through the thin cloth, fingers barely caressing his waistband. He hooked them inside and slowly peeled him out of his shorts like he was opening a present. Bucky’s cock bobbed three, pulsing and swollen, tip gleaming with a hint of clear fluid. “ _Steve_!” Steve gave the plump head one leisurely, soft, velvety stroke with his tongue, and Bucky’s brain short-circuited. 

“Do you like that?” Steve breathed over him.

“God, yes. Steve, please…”

“You asked so nice, an’ all…” Steve enveloped him in his mouth, and Bucky nearly came apart at how good it felt, and he moaned and cursed, begging Steve for more. Steve dipped his head over him, pulling on him like a bombe pop. Bucky’s grip on Steve’s hair tightened. Steve gently cradled his balls, toying with them. Drool pooled where it drizzled down Bucky’s length as he became hot and slick between Steve’s lips, plastering the dark hair against Bucky’s vulnerable sac. Steve groaned at the taste of him, at the feel of him throbbing and buffeting him. Bucky was leaking, dribbling the salty promise of a big mess down Steve’s throat.

“I won’t last if you keep that up.”

“Mmmmmm… mmmmnnh…mmnph…” The vibrations of his voice were pushing him even closer to the edge, and Bucky almost regretted saying anything. Steve Rogers was a tricky bastard, and he _knew_ what he was doing to Bucky.

“Steve!” Steve opened his eyes and stared up at him while he suckled him, and his face… his expression was so adoring and expectant, pleading with Bucky to let him know what would please him. How did he want him? Steve withdrew him, giving the head a few more teasing sucks, then swallowed him down again. Bucky’s hips jerked him forward into that heat, and the sensations… the pressure… they were becoming too much, when Steve was doing delicious things to his insides with each lap of his tongue and the scratch of his fingernails raking through Bucky’s patch.

Bucky needed to calm down for a minute, and he reluctantly made Steve pause, tugging his hair to make him withdraw. Steve looked up at him, disappointment mingling with desire. “Awww,” he whined, but Bucky leaned down and kissed him. “Lay back.”

“It was gonna get better.”

“It’s gonna get so fucking good in a minute, Steve.” Bucky yanked open the drawer that Steve told him about and found the little bottle of Astroglide. Only a small amount was missing.

“I got lonely,” Steve explained. “Helped me fall asleep.” There was a hint of guilt in his tone mingled with flirtation, and his lips twisted in a crooked, sexy smirk.

“I’ll put you to bed.” Bucky kissed Steve, slowly backing him up toward the head of the bed, easing him down onto the sheets, and the two of them lay tangled together, just making out for the pleasure of it. Bucky rutted against him, pushing against his cotton-covered bulge to build up some friction. Steve moaned back how good it felt, making little hungry sounds beneath him. Bucky lifted Steve’s hips up to jerk down his briefs, sliding them down his slender legs. He balled the briefs up and tossed them across the room with the rest of the pile, and they were finally flush against each other, skin on skin, tongues dueling and stroking as they moved together.

Steve heard the flip of the Astroglide cap and the damp sounding squirt of Bucky coating his fingers. Steve watched Bucky ease off of him, rolling to his side, and he opened his legs for Bucky eagerly, no longer shy. Bucky’s eyes roamed over him hungrily, leaving Steve no doubt how much he wanted him, how he needed to claim the slight, taut body laid out for him. He caressed Steve’s thigh, kissing his knee cap where it was bent up, and Steve grinned up at him.

“Hurry it up,” he muttered.

“Got all night, kiddo.”

“Do we, Buck?” Steve teased. His eyes were hooded as Bucky kissed down the length of his sensitive inner thigh, reaching down into the silky hollow between his cheeks with his slicked fingers. “All night?”

“As long as you want, Stevie.” Bucky’s eyes shuttered, telegraphing how good Steve’s skin tasted, and the sight, coupled with the press of Bucky’s finger sliding in past Steve’s tight muscles was pushing him toward the edge. Steve flexed and tensed around Bucky’s digit, testing his fit. “Easy…” he murmured softly. “Gonna make it good for you… ease up on me, that’s it, Stevie… feel so sweet right now. So damned sweet.” The words were misting over Steve’s skin, moving ever closer to his sac, and he cried out at the feel of Bucky mouthing one of his balls as he thrust his finger deeper into him. Bucky worked him open slowly, pushing and twisting up past his second knuckle. Steve keened and panted at how good it felt, the slightly painful sensation of being stretched with the warmth and smoothness of Bucky’s strokes. The second finger slid in easily enough, and Steve grew more vocal – definitely _not shy_ \- when Bucky began to scissor his fingers, and Steve’s gorgeous blue eyes snapped open when he found his sweet spot.

“That’s it, isn’t, babe? You like that?” Bucky gave his sac another decadent lap.

“God, yes… Bucky… oh, God…”

“Like it when I touch it like that? Just tellin’ it hello, Stevie…”

“Please… pleasepleaseplease…” Steve squirmed, twisting the pillow beneath his head in his fists, head thrown back and revealing the cords of his throat, and Bucky never saw anything so sexy and beautiful as the sight of Steven Grant Rogers going crazy. He massaged his prostate, watching him arch every time he grazed it, and Bucky inhaled the musky scent of him as he explored him with his tongue. Bucky was laying on his stomach by now, working a third finger inside and licking sloppy trails up and down his dick, making it gleam with spit and bloom a bright rose. Steve was moaning, whimpering for Bucky not to stop, wanting everything Bucky could give him. Bucky was moaning himself, humming into Steve’s flesh, craving his taste, the feel of him in his mouth, and he couldn’t resist the urge anymore to take Steve fully into his mouth. 

“ _Hahhhnnhhhh!_ ”

“ _Mmmnn…_ ” 

Steve’s legs were shaking and he was biting his finger to quell his cries, but Bucky took it up a notch and began to bob his head, taking Steve in deep, hungry gulps. He reached up with his free hand – previously stroking over his chest and flat belly – and tugged Steve’s hand from his mouth. “Mnn-nnhh,” Bucky protested from around Steve’s dick. He made a brief tutting motion with his finger and resumed his feast, eyes closing again in pleasure. He loved the taste of him, leaking his salty essence onto his tongue, and Bucky was still hard as a rock, and he needed to get inside Steve, or he wouldn’t last. But it was so hard to release him, when Steve was getting off on what he was doing to him, taking his hand so well, so eagerly, and thanking Bucky with every cry for his hot mouth.

He felt Steve’s tentative caress through his hair, and Bucky made a sound of approval, nodding slightly, letting that motion buffet Steve against the roof of his mouth. Steve hissed at the slight shift, then buried his fingers in Bucky’s dark, soft waves. Steve still felt nice and snug, but there was plenty of room for Bucky.

So tempting to bring him off… Bucky gave Steve’s hole a brief lap of his tongue, and Steve bucked up into his mouth, wanting more, but not at the expense of Bucky fully taking him. “Get in me,” he rasped. “God damn it, Bucky, hurry! I’m too close… too damn close!”

“I can’t wait another fuckin’ second, Rogers. You’re so fuckin’ hot… bet you can take me nice and sweet, can’t you?” Reluctantly he pulled his fingers free, and there it was, that sweet hole, stretched and soft, slightly reddened from Bucky’s attention. He knelt between his thighs and took one of Steve’s pillows, propping it under his ass. “God, that’s nice.” Steve roused himself from his haze long enough to bite open the condom packet and pull out the little disk. He leaned up long enough to help Bucky roll it down his twitching length. Bucky reached for the lube and slicked himself generously, shuddering at the feel of his own hand around his dick, throbbing and needing Steve so badly. He clapped the bottle cap shut and let it slide to the floor as he fumbled with himself, teasing Steve with the plump head of his dick. 

“Please, Bucky, oh, God, please, Bucky, pleaseBuckypleaseBucky…” His voice cut off on a long, low groan as Bucky thrust himself inside Steve’s sheathe. His body spasmed and arched with the shock of Steve’s walls squeezing and enveloping him. Steve was panting and gasping, garbled curses working their way up from his throat at being stretched and so full. He fit Bucky like a glove, and Bucky stuttered forward, just a quick little snap of his hips at first, gripping Steve’s narrow ones greedily.

“Shit… Stevie… you feel so good. You don’t even know. God, Steve.”

“Move. Damn it, Bucky, just move,” Steve demanded, and he held onto Bucky’s thighs, digging his fingers in when Bucky obeyed him, thrusting into him hard and deep. They were in danger of bruising each other, trying to get closer, deeper, staring into each other’s eyes until Steve’s drifted shut in bliss. He changed the angle of his hips slightly, wrapping Steve’s legs around his ribs, bending him nearly in half, and he pounded up into him, kissing that spot over and over again. Pleasure spiraled through Steve, racing into his lower spine, and Bucky was rambling on about how good Steve felt, breath coming out in little grunts with each thrust. He pounded into his hungry little hole and Steve’s arms wrapped themselves around Bucky’s neck. He pulled Bucky down into his kiss, more tongue than anything else, and Bucky swallowed Steve’s moans, chasing the taste of peaches and wanting to live in that satiny heat. Steve’s name beat like a tattoo in Bucky’s brain with every thrust, and he was so damned close, with Steve so tight around him, chanting his name into Bucky’s throat when they finally broke the kiss, scoring his fingernails down Bucky’s back…

“Oh, God… _Steve_! Oh… _fuck_.” When his climax began to work its way out of him his whole body stiffened, and his eyes were wide and dark, pleading with Steve to fall over the edge with him. 

“ _Bucky_ …” Bucky felt himself pulsing, spilling, and he thrust into Steve relentlessly, hammering him so hard his teeth clacked together, but he hit that spot, and Steve keened through it, erupting in hot, pearly spills moments after Bucky flooded his insides with his release, warm and thick. His body spasmed as he emptied himself in tight little jerks, pleasure contorting his features, gripping Steve so hard. Steve’s dick gave one last twitch and splashed a final strip of come over his belly. Bucky collapsed against him, gasping and spent, noticing that when Steve’s arms wrapped around him, they were shaking.

“Stevie…”

“M’good. Fine,” he panted. “M’real good.”

“Yeah, you are.” Bucky was breathing harshly, and he heard a stunned attempt at a laugh from Steve, but he was still too out of breath. “I wanna go again!”

“Geez… give a guy a chance to wind down?” Steve looked aghast for a moment, but he leaned up weakly and kissed Bucky, making him hum in contentment. They lay there recovering, sweat cooling on their skin, hair completely disheveled, flesh rosy and dotted with marks from fingernails and snug grips. Bucky grew slightly drowsy, despite his plea to continue, from Steve’s caresses and his fingers sifting through his hair. Bucky could barely lift his head, but his lips found Steve’s skin, nibbling at his collarbones and throat. Their limbs felt heavy and loose, tangled together on the crowded full-size bed. Bucky gently extracted himself, making Steve winced, and he chucked the depleted condom into a nearby wastebasket before settling back against Steve, draping an arm and leg around him and pulling up the covers. 

“Figure you can rest for a minute,” Bucky joked, but he was half-serious. He didn’t mind the idea of taking Steve again before the night was over if he was game. All he knew was that he didn’t plan to leave that bed, that the lure of Steve’s compact, welcoming body was too great for him to make any attempt at heading home.

“Oh, for a minute, huh? Wise guy.” Steve pinched Bucky.

“Ow. Punk.”

“Jerk.”

“Stevie?”

“Yeah?”

“That was fantastic.”

“Sure was.” Steve yawned and kissed Bucky’s hairline. It felt right to have him wrapped in his arms, listening to each other’s hammering hearts. He reached over and turned off the light cord on the bedside lamp.

He didn’t notice the hard drive light still glowing on his PC tower from across the room. Steve snuggled Bucky close and the two of them drifted off in a vodka, cider and sex-induced haze, replete and content.

The messages could rest until tomorrow. Steve hummed a few bars of Nina in his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I know... overkill. But, _smut._
> 
> Wouldn't stay in the corner any longer. *ducks tomatoes*

**Author's Note:**

> My muses aren't sane. They aren't. I was all ready to write a nice smutty ending to this, and they kept nagging me, "Bucky wouldn't take advantage of Steve like that!"
> 
> Me: "But... but... I wanna write smut!"
> 
> Muses: "Stop being such a dirty old lady."
> 
> Me: "Can they at least make out a lot?"
> 
> Muses: *shrug* "Yup."
> 
> Me: "YAY!"
> 
> *sneaks off to write dirty alternate ending anyway*
> 
> Yes. Make sure you hit the "Next Chapter" button once I have it posted. I'm leaving a "1/2" chapter count open on this in the meantime. Expect the tags and rating to change.


End file.
